


Routine

by brutti_ma_buoni



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Gen, Misses Clause Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 14:52:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8894893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brutti_ma_buoni/pseuds/brutti_ma_buoni
Summary: Unattractive garden sculpture in Tooting never seemed like something Miriam would willingly spend time on. Especially not today, when she had more important things to think about.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [machiavellijr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/machiavellijr/gifts).



> There's a certain amount of snarkiness in Miriam's mind about the Folly in this - which is all her own. Love them dearly. But I do imagine they'd be a pain to have as colleagues, for the non-magical on the force.

Miriam had a headache. She had better places to be tonight than this garden in Tooting with the doubtful patio furniture and the tasteless ornaments. Not to mention much better people to be with than she was currently facing, and a nagging worry about one of those people that couldn’t be abated while on duty on a possible murder case. Also, for not unconnected reasons, she really, really didn’t feel like calling out Falcon tonight. 

She looked at Guleed. Smart kid, that one. Slightly smarter than suited Miriam tonight, sure, but in general she was a good one to have on the team. “So… How certain are you that someone turned your suspect to stone?”

It wasn’t that she was hoping Guleed would _lie_ , per se. But a bit of plausible uncertainty tonight would save Miriam from a conversation with Nightingale which she wasn’t quite up for. Not until she had had a chance to talk to-

Well. That wasn’t something Miriam brought on duty, and she wasn’t about to start tonight. Especially since Guleed’s face wavered for a second with the temptation that Miriam shared. But she was a good copper, or would be if Falcon didn’t get her killed first, so she said, “I’m not totally certain. Because who even knew you could turn someone to stone in real life? But Tommy’s left all his cards, his phone, his wife – and she’s genuinely worried, Sarge, can’t stop pacing and calling friends – and now there’s this statue in their garden, which looks _just like him_ , except terrified, and that just seems like a really big coincidence. Or a terrible joke, but no one’s been calling him the King of Bantz or anything, so-“

“So now would be a funny time to start.” Miriam sighed internally, and nodded to Guleed. “Thanks, Sahra. Sounds like one for Falcon.”

“They’re off, though,” said Guleed. Which Miriam had forgotten, and was both inconvenient and welcome. Some big deal in Maidenhead, apparently. One of those things that Miriam tried not to know about and yet still couldn’t avoid, about rivers and what keeps the sun rising every day, and other magical crap she still couldn’t quite believe had to be factored in on a standard investigation protocol. 

“Oh well,” she said, trying not to sound cheerful. “Not like Tommy Miller’s going anywhere, is it? Presuming you’re right about this one.”

Guleed nodded, and tried to look casual about it. “Except, Sarge- We don’t know what did this to Tommy. Or how, or why. And-"

Yeah. Petrifying people was definitely something Miriam frowned on. “I’ll call it in. But I reckon you’re right, Sahra. They didn’t sound like they’d be back for anything short of a mad wizard on the loose.” Once again, Miriam contemplated the sentences that now formed part of her operational vocabulary, and gave a small inward shudder. She dismissed Guleed, who really shouldn’t be on duty right now after the week she’d had, then radioed The Folly, expecting nothing.

“Hallo?” It was a woman. Not an English one, at that, recognisable through just the two syllables. Not someone Miriam should be talking to, for sure. Except she was pretty sure who this was, and it might actually be the right person to answer her question. 

“Erm, hello,” she said, sounding unprofessional to her own ears, but not sure what you did call an immortal Russian murder witch, which was basically who she was speaking to, as far as she’d been able to glean. 

“You called?” The murder witch sounded amused, which was enough to shake Miriam into more effective action.

“Yes. I just needed to ask if anyone at the Folly knows of a… spell… or something that turns people to stone.” Spell. There was another of those words Miriam disliked. But, needs must when it turns out things do go bump in the night after all. 

She couldn’t quite remember the witch’s name. Not Barbara, something like it. Hadn’t been her collar, and she hadn’t okayed the decision to turn her over to the Folly, though she didn’t quite disagree. Now she was hoping not to need to prolong this conversation long enough for it to matter. Calling a snout “Oi, you,” wasn’t her style. 

Luckily, whatshername the witch didn’t try to play her in any obvious way. There was a short pause on the line, and then the voice said, “No. I don’t believe there is. I could check, if I had access to a full library, but would you believe your colleagues don’t trust me with that?” Miriam was fairly certain they didn’t trust her with their comms devices either, but she wasn’t about to query it just now. Priorities. The voice continued, “But you’d need a truly advanced practitioner for any such a spell, and it seems unlikely someone like that would have turned up without warning. Not again. So, what with Occam’s Razor and K.I.S.S. principles and all those things your Peter is so keen on, I think you probably have a gorgon on the loose.”

“Right,” said Miriam. “Thanks for that.”

“Welcome,” said the witch, who might have been laughing at her. “Remember, don’t look into its eyes.”

Miriam hung up on her, without a twinge of guilt at the rudeness. She had other contacts. Admittedly, contacts just as sarcastic, but in the modern high-tech world of policing, a side of sarcasm isn’t the worst thing you get slammed with. And there had been some moments, in the mess around the discovery of the Quiet People, when Miriam thought she’d found someone who she could work with. Someone on what Miriam tried hard not to think of as _The Other Side_ , but who was, nonetheless, almost definitely the personification of a London river. 

Lady Ty didn’t sound especially startled to be called at half past eleven at night by a detective sergeant of very loose acquaintance. “A gorgon? Dire news. I’ll come by.”

Miriam didn’t spend the entire wait checking the names of local rivers. But she also wasn’t wholly surprised when Tyburn arrived accompanied by a quiet young woman with waist-length dreads, who was briefly introduced as ‘Graveney’, and didn’t noticeably participate in the subsequent conversations, though she paid a lot of attention and occasionally typed into her phone at moments Miriam couldn’t fully explain. 

“We can’t promise anything,” Tyburn said, after enough discussion to establish that Guleed was, basically, 97% probably right that the awful human statue in the garden was in fact an awful human corpse. Admittedly, a tidier one than Miriam usually had to deal with. But still a dead man, and one who had lately been invited to spend some time with the police to expand upon areas of mutual interest. So much was Miriam’s problem, and one she’d deal with. The part that apparently _wasn’t_ her problem was that it meant a mythical snake-haired woman had most likely moved into the Streatham-Mitcham borders and was taking it upon herself to rid the world of third-rate gang members. (Or else wasn’t wearing shades to cover her petrifying eyes, and was threatening the general population with randomly turning into garden furniture, but apparently that one was unlikely, said Tyburn. Gorgons tended to go for discretion. It helped them to survive.) Apparently goddesses didn’t get turned to stone, so Tyburn and her sisters could basically do as they pleased, ducking the odd snake-head along the way. Fair enough. 

Tyburn was continuing while Miriam’s attention wandered. It had been a long day, and it was almost time to go back to the important things in life. “-properly managed and monitored demonic and fae populations,” snagged Miriam’s thoughts, though. “If you’d support my proposals for a register, I’m sure we can secure a suitable funding allocation, and administrative support-“

Peter had said something, just in passing, about Tyburn wanting to rule over all the magical wossnames of London. Miriam hadn’t paid much heed, filing it firmly under ‘Folly Bollocks’ in her mind-o-fax. But hey presto, Lady Ty was politicking, all right. Not that Miriam flattered herself she was high on the influencing list, but she could see Tyburn’s thinking. Start to get support among the plod, leave the Folly isolated – was it really the Met’s highest priority, dealing with magicians? And so on. Till Lady Ty ended up top of the heap. Possibly with Nightingale as a footstool, since he was likely too useful to get shot of entirely. Yeah. You had to admire the strategy. 

“Nope,” said Miriam, cheerfully. “Way above my pay grade. But if you can hunt down this gorgon thing before it freezes anyone else on my wanted list, I’d be much obliged.” She shook Tyburn’s hand, warmly, smiling the smile of the adequately-intelligent-but-not-subtle copper, and resolutely turned for home. Sometimes, being underestimated was useful. 

Safely in her own car, with an irritated but still semi-friendly pair of goddesses solving crimes on her watch, Miriam could finally focus on the most important thing in her day. “Hey, love,” she said. Still sitting in her awkward parking spot across the dropped kerb, half aware of the bald spot in the neighbour’s privet hedge, but barely focused on anything but her phone. “How did your appointment go? What did the doctor say?”


End file.
